


The Puzzle of You

by writeratheart007301



Series: The S.H.I.E.L.D. Files [2]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/F, Mission Fic, Post-Mission, Pre-Relationship, Rescue Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:13:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26125570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeratheart007301/pseuds/writeratheart007301
Summary: If Maria managed to make it out of here, she was totally going to savour the I-told-you-so that she’d throw at Romanoff.
Relationships: Maria Hill/Natasha Romanov
Series: The S.H.I.E.L.D. Files [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896979
Comments: 6
Kudos: 166





	1. Maze Runner Who?

**Author's Note:**

> So, I had this wacky idea for a story, and I just rolled with it. It takes place some time after my first story, "Fatal Attraction" but the events are completely unrelated, so you don't have to read that one first. And it's set before the two get together (in my other story, "Not Your Fault").
> 
> As is the case with all my stories, this one can be read as a standalone, although it's a part of the series. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the story and stay safe!

#### The Soldier

If Maria managed to make it out of here, she was totally going to savour the _I-told-you-so_ that she’d throw at Romanoff. And Fury.

But right now, there she stood, at the entrance of an ultra-modern, ultra-urban, and _ultra-fucking-insane_ maze; ready to go in even though she knew that it was nearly impossible to get out.

Oh, and that wasn’t a euphemism. It was a _literal_ labyrinth.

It all went back to this mission from a few months ago, when S.H.I.E.L.D. had needed intel on this tech whiz kid. He was a pretty standard guy: genius, gamer, rich-with-his-own-company-at-just-twenty-eight. The catch was that he was also part of a trafficking ring. That mostly dealt with women. And _children._

It was the first time S.H.I.E.L.D. had come across such a combination. Maria remembered studying his dossier with a lot more care, trying to understand the target thoroughly. And the more she'd read, the more she'd been convinced that the guy was a fucking psychopath.

_I mean, no normal person is going to spend so much effort – and money – in actually building such an intricate maze, just to entertain themselves._

Before this mission had started, months ago, Maria had expressed her opinions about said psychopath rather colourfully to Fury, insisting that they bring the man in and interrogate him to get the contacts of his accomplices. But the Director had been hell-bent on using their Russian covert weapon.

Romanoff.

And while Maria agreed that Romanoff’s undercover work was a dream, she wasn’t, in the least bit, comfortable letting the woman – or anyone, for that matter – anywhere near that crazy man. But Romanoff _and_ Fury had simply mocked her concern, telling her to “think like a spy, not like a soldier.”

Maria scoffed at the memory right now, just the way she had during the briefing for the mission. She remembered the meeting all too well. The Russian had smirked at her the whole time as they ironed out the details of her cover and Barton’s external support.

Of course, the reason for the redhead’s smugness was a little different…

_Maria was leafing through a file, waiting for Fury and the agents to turn up, when the door of the conference room was thrown open._

_Barton trudged in, his face sporting a quizzical expression, and Romanoff followed behind, the usual swagger in her stride. They barely noted Maria’s presence before shifting their focus back to each other._

_They kept bickering among themselves, much to Maria’s annoyance, with Barton spouting out weird terms every now and then, and Romanoff rejecting them – in a unique way, each time – and Maria was forced to tear her attention away from the words on the paper._

_She tried to make out what they were talking about, but it sounded like hipster mad libs to her. And Maria just had to interrupt them when she heard Barton squeak out the word “bejesus.”_

_“Uh, Agents,” Maria began, clearing her throat, “Care to elaborate the earth-shattering decision you’re trying to arrive at?”_

_Barton stared at her, as if noticing her only now, while the redhead merely laughed. The archer sighed before giving the explanation._

_“You see, Agent Hill,” Barton started, “Yesterday, Coulson came up to us with a list of riddles.”_

_“Riddles?” Maria all but snorted._

_“Yeah,” Romanoff took over, “He was bored, I guess, and he found a new way of torturing us.”_

_“Something about keeping our brains active…” Barton muttered exasperatedly._

_“You’re just pissed that you couldn’t get the last one,” the redhead taunted, chuckling lightly, “Despite taking Laura’s help.”_

_Curiosity had gotten the better of Maria, by now. She tapped her foot against the floor expectantly, and the shorter woman returned an impish grin._

_“Let’s see if you can answer this, Hill,” Romanoff said, her voice lined with faux_ _solemnity, “If I’m holding a bee, what do I have in my eye.”_

_Maria deadpanned at the woman for a couple of seconds, trampling the urge to roll her eyes at the sheer silliness of the riddle. But she’d walked into the trap herself, and the Russian’s eyes were gleaming in challenge._

_And Maria couldn’t lose to Romanoff._

_The cocky agent would never let her hear the end of it._

_Maria maintained a stoic expression as she racked her brain for the answer. And the solution hit her right before Romanoff could widen her grin._

_“Beauty,” Maria answered confidently, “Because, ‘beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder.’”_

_Romanoff raised her brows and Maria knew she was impressed. She internally heaved a sigh of relief at not losing face._

_Barton, however, almost actually threw his hands in the air, “’Bee-holder,’” he scoffed, “Very funny, Tasha.”_

_“Funny and hot,” the redhead retorted cheekily, “Funny and hot and infinitely smart.”_

_The Russian made that last bit rhyme with an exaggerated accent, and Maria promptly smothered the bark of laughter that threatened to escape her lips._

_And she was speaking before she even knew it, “Well, then, Agent, I have a riddle for you too.”_

_Romanoff crossed her arms over her chest and raised her chin, ready for the dare. And Maria gave her a devilish grin of her own._

_“Riddle me this, Romanoff,” Maria began, rather theatrically, “What is it that given one, you'll have either two or none?”_

_The room stayed quiet as the shorter woman tried to think of the answer; Barton’s gaze darting between the two of them as if it were a ping-pong match._

_A good 2 minutes passed by in deathly silence, and just when Maria thought she’d won, Romanoff’s eyes lit up._

_“A choice,” the redhead stated, adding a slight jut of her hips by way of announcing her victory._

_She’d answered correctly, and Maria was surprised when she felt proud. Of the woman’s sharpness and wit._

_It was dumb, really, what they were doing. They were agents of an intelligence agency, for God’s sake. And there they were, trading brainteasers like a bunch of nerds._

_But Maria could hardly help herself when she tipped her head just a little bit to convey her appreciation. Romanoff’s gaze softened for a second, and then the smirk was back on her face._

_But before the woman could say anything, the door was pushed open, and Fury came in. The meeting promptly began, and Maria couldn’t stop her thoughts from going stray throughout the briefing._

_Because, even though she had answered the redhead’s riddle, she knew what the real puzzle was._

_Romanoff, herself._

_And Maria doubted she’d ever be able to solve that…_

Maria’s focus returned to the present soon enough.

She cursed under her breath at the situation she was caught in.

Her premonition had come true, and the redhead had gotten herself into trouble yet again. Romanoff’s cover had been blown and she’d somehow gotten herself locked up somewhere in Mr Psycho’s latest tech-masterpiece.

Which was, essentially, this psychedelic escape-room. Except, it was more like an escape-concrete-jungle. And, there was also the minor detail that _the entire fucking place was going to be blown to bits in 30 minutes._

24 minutes, actually, according to the watch on Maria’s wrist.

_Why. Fucking. Not._

The guy himself had fled in his private jet after setting off the timer for the bomb – _bombs_ ; considering the size of this place – and Maria had sent Barton after him in a Quinjet. She’d then ordered the rest of the backup team to get started on locating the explosives while she’d get Romanoff out of the maze.

But right now, as Maria stood at the crossroads of three different paths, she doubted she would even _find_ the woman.

The roads each had different coloured walls and weird sounds playing from invisible speakers; neither of it helping Maria decide which one to take. And the wrong choice would have her wandering in there for hours.

_Not hours. Minutes. Before the thing goes up in flames._

It was crazy how this whole op – right from the starting till right now – had this weird theme of riddles and puzzles, but Maria didn’t have the time to muse on how poetic it all was.

She gave all the paths one last look and then promptly swerved into the one on her right, choosing to simply go with her gut.

The road had light blue walls – soothing, in comparison to the dark and neon colours that the other ones had – and there was soft ballroom music playing as she continued to walk deeper down the path.

It was downright creepy, with the endless, blank walls and the slow piano notes wafting in the air almost ominously. But Maria trudged forward, hoping to God that the road would actually lead somewhere, and she’d find the redhead.

And she didn’t even bother to keep her gun ready.

No sane person was going to willingly walk into this literal death trap.

* * *

Maria had walked for a good 5 minutes before her surroundings finally changed.

There was a door about 10 yards in front of her, and Maria guessed that she’d reached the end of the path. She heard faint sounds of scuffle coming from the other side of the door, and she quickly jogged up to it, wrenching it open impatiently.

Maria walked in and found herself in a large, cavernous room. The walls were more greyish, but the same ballet music was playing here as well. She heard the click behind her as the door closed, and Maria knew that the thing had gotten locked.

_Right. Of course, you can’t go out the same way you came in._

But she’d found Romanoff.

The woman was standing in the centre of the room, battered bodies of men littered around her. Romanoff’s back was facing her, but Maria could see the rapid rise and fall of her shoulders as she heaved for breath.

Maria ran up to her, the clack of her boots echoing off the walls, but the redhead didn’t seem to notice her presence. Romanoff didn’t respond even when Maria placed her hand on her shoulder. Maria walked around the redhead to look at her face, and her breath caught at the sight she was met with.

The shorter woman had a nasty gash on her temple, the blow probably hard enough to give her a concussion. But that wasn’t the most alarming part. Romanoff’s features were etched with sheer terror, and Maria almost physically jerked back as she took in the redhead’s eyes; wide and haunted and _lost_.

Maria kept her voice just above a whisper as she called out to her, “Romanoff…?”

But the woman flinched violently, as if the sound had ripped her out of a dream. Her gaze flew towards Maria’s face and the panic in her orbs increased even more, if that was possible. And before Maria could see it coming, Romanoff slammed her fist against Maria’s jaw, a weak growl escaping her lips.

“ _No!_ ” the redhead yelled, her voice hoarse, “I won’t give it to you!”

Romanoff pulled her shaking fists up into her fighting stance, but Maria was prepared this time, and held her wrists tightly. The woman immediately began struggling to get out her hold, but Maria maintained her grip. Romanoff shut her eyes even while she flailed her arms around, her head shaking rather furiously.

“Romanoff!” Maria barked, trying to counter the woman’s frantic movements, “ _Romanoff, look at me._ ”

Maria had spoken in Russian, and the redhead instantly opened her eyes. But her orbs were still glassy, and Maria knew she wasn’t back yet.

“Look at me,” Maria ordered once again, willing her voice to stay gentle, “You’re not there.”

Maria kept repeating the words and Romanoff slowly began to calm down. Her frenzied actions had ceased, but she was still shaking her head, her face contorted in horror as she screwed her eyes shut once more.

And Maria could hardly bear to look at her.

She realised that this wasn’t going to work. She needed something that would grab the redhead’s attention and _keep_ it. Something that would force Romanoff to think about something – _anything_ – other than whatever was tormenting her. Something that would –

“I have a puzzle for you,” Maria spoke suddenly.

She instantly cringed at herself. What even made her think that would work? Maria had just about convinced herself that it was a futile attempt, when Romanoff slowly opened her eyes, and scanned Maria’s face in confusion.

_Okay, then. Might as well give it a go…_

“You love riddles, don’t you?” Maria whispered shakily, holding the woman’s gaze, “Let’s see if you can answer this one right now.”

Romanoff’s petrified expression didn’t change, but the life seemed to be returning to her eyes as she gawked at Maria.

“So, tell me, Romanoff,” Maria began, raising her brows for emphasis, “What is always in front of you but can’t be seen?”

Maria drilled her gaze into the redhead’s emeralds, willing the woman to stay focused.

_Come on, Romanoff, you always have an answer ready. Come back from… wherever it is that you are, and give it to me._

The redhead blinked once and squared her jaw just a little. And Maria knew she’d managed to divert Romanoff’s mind.

But before she could sigh in relief, the reality of the situation hit her, and Maria promptly checked her watch.

_T-minus 14 minutes._

_Lovely._

Maria barely managed to stifle the curses as she gritted her teeth painfully. She glanced at Romanoff, noted the woman’s thoughtful expression, and then let her gaze sweep across the room, searching for an exit.

Maria spotted it soon enough and immediately tugged Romanoff along with her as she moved towards the door. Pulling it open, Maria found herself facing three different paths, once again.

_Fucking perfect._

Unlike before, the roads all had white walls, but there were weird flickers of light – completely arbitrary in their frequency – coming from each of them. And this time, Maria couldn’t stop her growl of frustration.

She’d somehow gotten lucky the first-time round, but she doubted that was going to happen again. But she knew she didn’t have any choice but to keep moving. Biting down the defeat, Maria started walking straight ahead, altogether unsure what was in store for them in –

_“The future.”_

Romanoff had all but muttered the words as she halted in her tracks, making Maria stop too.

Maria’s head whipped towards the Russian, her eyebrows knitted in confusion, and Romanoff took a long, shaky breath.

“The answer to your riddle…” the redhead mumbled, “The future.”

It was the correct answer, and Maria gaped at her for a few seconds, dumbstruck at the whole series of events. And Romanoff shot her an exhausted smile.

“By the way,” the shorter woman began, her voice still small, “You were going the wrong way.”

She tugged Maria’s hand and began leading them into the path on their left. Maria soon matched Romanoff’s pace, walking beside her. But the woman kept holding Maria’s hand, like she needed the touch to stay alert.

“How do you know where we’re supposed to go?” Maria couldn’t help but ask.

Romanoff huffed rather weakly, “You forget I was undercover here,” she muttered, “I was there when the guy built this thing. I managed to crack his code.”

The Russian’s fractured gaze was fixed ahead, and Maria was grateful for that. Because she was outright _smiling._ The woman was a goddamned – almost insufferable – smartass.

But the grin died almost immediately, as the flashes of light suddenly started getting intense. Maria had to squint her eyes at the blasts of colours as they kept changing around them.

And as if that wasn’t enough, Romanoff’s breathing had gotten ragged beside her, and the woman sounded like she was choking. The redhead froze in her steps and squeezed her eyes close once again, her body trembling like a leaf.

_Goddammit, not again._

Maria left the redhead’s wrist and grasped her shoulders with both her hands, turning the woman so that she would face her.

“ _Breathe_ , Romanoff,” Maria coaxed, “Look at me and breathe.”

And Maria wondered just what magic the words carried when the shorter woman opened her eyes; her breathing still erratic, but not as frenetic as before.

“That’s right,” Maria said softly, “Keep looking at me.”

Romanoff obeyed her – for once – and fixed her gaze on Maria’s eyes, her own orbs almost glazing over.

“ _Blue_ …” the redhead murmured, her broken voice raking over Maria’s skin like shards of glass.

She took the woman's hand once again and started walking, but Romanoff didn’t move. The redhead pulled at her fingers desperately, and Maria took a step back.

“I can’t…” Romanoff rasped, her eyes filling with tears, “I can’t make the visions stop.”

Maria felt her throat go dry at the woman’s shattered expression. She swallowed forcefully, trying to push down the tightness and think of something to comfort her.

“Just… keep looking at me, Romanoff,” Maria whispered, her own voice hitching at the sheer helplessness.

“I _am_ ,” the redhead muttered, her voice strangled, “But I still keep hearing those sounds…”

Romanoff shut her eyes yet again, the tears falling onto her cheeks. The woman’s body was painfully stiff, like she wanted to move it but wasn’t being able to. And Maria felt a twinge in her heart at the redhead’s condition.

She briefly contemplated knocking out the woman, just to end her misery. But Romanoff was probably already concussed.

_And, not to mention, she’s the only one who might know the way out of this hellhole._

“Okay, then, Romanoff, tell me,” Maria said, squeezing the redhead’s hand to get her attention, “You have a single match and you’re in a pitch-black room with a candle, an oil lamp and a gas stove. Which do you light first?”

The shorter woman’s eyes cracked open just a bit, a sheen of tears still covering her orbs. Maria repeated the question, slowly this time, and Romanoff’s gaze slowly started refocusing as she absorbed the words. It took a while, but the redhead soon recognised it as the next puzzle.

It was straight-up _insane_ how this whole riddles-thing was working, but Maria had no time to ruminate on it. Romanoff had her thinking-face on once again, and this time when Maria pulled her as she resumed walking, the woman let herself get dragged.

* * *

They had just taken a few steps when Maria’s earpiece buzzed to life.

“Agent Hill, we’ve found the bombs,” the voice at the other end informed, “They’re on top of the structure, spaced out to cover the entire expanse.”

Maria was about to respond, but the voice spoke again, “But their circuitry is too complex for us to diffuse them in time.”

And Maria almost couldn’t believe their fucked-up luck. Literally _nothing_ was helping her right now.

She bit back curses before replying, “Okay, Agent, screw the bombs. Tell everyone to move out of here.”

“I just need a single chopper ready and waiting at the exit,” Maria ordered, glancing towards the redhead as she pulled her along, “And I need a medic on it.”

She didn’t wait for the reply before turning the earpiece off. She checked her watch, and the panic was instantaneous when she realised that they had just 6 minutes left.

Maria promptly increased her pace, breaking out into a jog. Romanoff struggled to match her long strides, and Maria was practically dragging her as they weaved through the path.

And just when Maria was going to speed up once again, the redhead tugged at her hand, “The match.”

Maria didn’t slow down but turned her head a little to look at her, and Romanoff spoke once again, her words jerky as they ran, “You would light the match first.”

“Correct answer, Romanoff,” Maria muttered, halting in her tracks as they reached the next crossroad, “Now, which path do we take?”

The shorter woman studied the different roads for about 4 seconds before choosing one, and they resumed the jog.

And thus, began the routine: Maria kept Romanoff occupied with more puzzles as they dashed through the maze, the whole thing peppered with _which-way-do-we-go’s_ every now and then.

The light and sound effects were only getting more and more disturbing as they (hopefully) got nearer to the end, and Romanoff kept periodically gasping and flinching as she got hauled forward.

And not in this, or any other parallel universe would Maria have possibly imagined herself praying so ardently for her to remember enough riddles.

* * *

They still hadn’t found the exit when the tremors began.

The digits on Maria’s watch cruelly taunted her that they were, indeed, out of time, and she broke out into a full-blown sprint, gripping Romanoff’s hand tightly so that she could keep up.

The rumble of the rubble crashing to the ground kept getting louder, and Maria increased her speed even more, trying her best to ignore the distant – but still clear – sounds of the blasts as the bombs started going off.

She finally found the end of the labyrinth, the open gate in the front revealing the starry night, and Maria’s vision tunnelled around it. It was around 100 yards away – the roar of the chopper somewhere outside audible over the din of destruction – and Maria ran with renewed determination.

They still had a quarter of the distance left when the walls around them began quaking. The explosion followed just a few seconds later, and the ceiling above them began giving away. Maria gritted her teeth and ran even faster, her calves aching at being pushed to their limits.

They were approaching the door quite fast, but the debris had already started raining around them, and Maria desperately hoped that the larger pieces wouldn’t hit them. She reached within herself for every ounce of her strength to push forward and cover the space between them and the exit.

And just before the whole damn roof could collapse on top of them, Maria grabbed Romanoff by her waist and scooped her up as she dove out of the gate.

Maria landed rather painfully on her back, the redhead’s elbow inadvertently ramming into her ribs, and Maria somehow stifled her groan. She quickly scrambled to her feet, yanking Romanoff up as well as they raced towards the chopper some yards beside them.

They reached it in a few seconds, and Maria lifted Romanoff and all but threw her into the chopper. She climbed up immediately after that, shutting the door behind her as the pilot increased the throttle of the aircraft.

They were just about high enough in the air when the entire structure below them went up into a huge mushroom of flames.


	2. Into the Night

#### The Widow

_The music of the piano continued to play, soft and lulling, as Natasha clutched the small pendant in her hand, a peek of it still visible through the tight set of her fingers._

_It was a rather dull blue in colour, somewhat similar to the bleak, grey walls surrounding her. But even that minute difference was enough for Natasha._

_It gave her hope._

_Hope of what, she didn’t know. But Natasha hung onto it right now as she looked around her, the little girls – some her age, some older, and far too many younger – dressed in their ballet costumes, waiting in a straight line._

_She heard the shuffle of boots coming towards the training room – the sound of the Madame’s stilettos echoing sinisterly across the hall – and Natasha instantly began panicking. She couldn’t let them find the pendant. It was her little treasure._

_Desperate to preserve that shred of a dream, Natasha opened her mouth and placed the pendant under her tongue, the action prompt and discreet. She’d protect that thing with her life. It was hers._

_Hers._

_The Madame soon entered the room, her lapdogs flanking each of her sides, the buckles on their belts gleaming as they glowered down at the girls._

_“I heard that some of you have gathered souvenirs,” the Madame spoke, her gaze unblinking as she regarded them, “From our latest training subject.”_

_“Sentimental attachments like that only make you weak,” the Madame continued, her voice cold and detached, “And the weak stand no chance in this world.”_

_With a slight wave of her hand, the Madame motioned for one of the men to check the girls. And Natasha’s heart began beating against her ribcage so loudly, she was scared it was going to be heard in the otherwise quiet room._

_The man had checked three girls when the silence was finally broken by a gasp._

_Natasha didn’t dare to turn her head towards the source of the sound, but she knew exactly had happened. And she knew exactly what was_ going _to happen._

_They had found something on one of the girls. And she was going to be punished._

_And then they were going to find her pendant as well._

_Natasha kept her gaze glued to the floor, willing her hands to stop shaking behind her, where she’d crossed them. But the Madame blew out a sigh – a menacing, nearly inaudible sigh – and Natasha’s trepidation only multiplied._

_She barely managed to stifle her whimper when she heard the tell-tale sound of metal as the man unfastened his belt –_

“Romanoff!”

– _and curled its buckled end around his fist._

_Natasha could hear the ragged breaths of the girl – the calm ballroom notes in the background a stark contrast to her terror – and Natasha wished she could block out all the sounds. But they only got louder and more frantic as the dread took over the hapless girl and –_

“Romanoff, wake up!”

– _Natasha braced herself for what she knew was eventually going to be done to her as well._

_In her peripheral vision, Natasha could see the man raise his arm, the belt held in his hand slithering in the air like a snake, and she shut her eyes just before –_

“Look at me, Romanoff!”

And Natasha bolted upright on the bed, her heart thundering in her chest as she gasped for breath.

Her sight hadn’t cleared yet, the faint vestiges of the sounds still ringing in her ears, and she squeezed her eyes close, willing it all to go away.

“Look at me,” the same voice from before spoke again, “Come on, Romanoff, look at me.”

It was different from every other voice Natasha had heard; it was firm but gentle, clear but also tensed.

And Natasha suddenly yearned for more of _this_ sound.

She slowly opened her eyes and found herself looking at a pair of worried orbs. They were blue – similar to the colour of that pendant, but much deeper and richer – and they were observing Natasha intently.

Hill held her gaze earnestly, “You’re here,” she whispered, “You’re safe.”

And Natasha would never know if it was the warmth in the brunette’s words or the words themselves, but her hand moved on its own accord to pull Hill into a hug.

The taller woman let out a surprised sound before adjusting herself to sit on the bed beside her, and wrapped her arms around Natasha. And Natasha realised it wasn’t either of those reasons that had made her reach out for the brunette.

It was just _Hill._

Her _presence._

The brunette kept repeating the words in Natasha’s ear, and Natasha sagged right into her embrace, her body and mind utterly exhausted by the ordeal.

It was the same damn memory that had tortured her earlier during their escape. Except, she had been too far gone the first time it had happened. And Natasha could hardly believe she was still _sane,_ after reliving it again in the span of – what she hoped – less than 24 hours.

As Natasha steadied herself, she could slowly start feeling the dull headache where she’d been hit, painkillers probably helping it stay that way. And she realised she was in the infirmary, the distinct smell of antiseptic assaulting her senses.

Eager to escape the pungent scent, Natasha nuzzled her nose into the crook of Hill’s neck – only for a fleeting second – and she couldn’t believe just how quickly the calm settled into her, washing through her limbs like some kind of an elixir.

The brunette exhaled audibly at the move, and she whispered the words again, probably for the millionth time by now, “You’re here, Romanoff.”

And just like that, Natasha was almost completely fine.

And she also realised how miserably _weak_ she was coming of as.

“That’s quite the breaking news, Hill,” Natasha jeered, affecting as much irreverence into her voice as she could, “Now, would you mind explaining why _you’re_ here?”

Natasha expected – _wanted –_ Hill to just get up and leave. Leave Natasha to lick her wounds in solitude. But the taller woman simply laughed. She _legitimately_ laughed, and Natasha had to pull back and look at her, confounded by what the woman found funny.

Hill merely ducked her head and shook it a couple of times, her features etched with… with… _respite?_ Natasha couldn’t exactly make out, but she was mesmerised by the brunette’s relieved expression.

Her breath caught at the sight, and a strangled whimper involuntarily escaped her lips. And the frown was suddenly back on Hill’s face as she looked up.

“Hey, hey, are you okay, Romanoff?” the brunette asked, her gaze scanning Natasha’s face, “Do you need something to drink?”

Hill withdrew completely as she tried to stand up – their hands no longer touching – and Natasha felt the panic barrelling towards her all over again.

“ _No!”_ she all but squeaked, surprised by the vehemence in her voice, “Just don’t –”

Natasha stopped herself before she could make the troubling confession.

_Don’t leave me._

And she couldn’t know for sure, but Hill’s gaze softened a bit as she settled back into her earlier position, beside Natasha.

If she was being honest, though, Natasha really was thirsty, the rawness in her throat suddenly reminding her of how dry her mouth was. The brunette seemed to sense her discomfort and her eyes darted away from her face, somewhere behind Natasha.

Hill slowly leaned forward and raised her arm to reach for something beside Natasha, and Natasha found her breath hitching yet again when she saw what was in the brunette’s hand.

She eyed the cup of ice chips for a while, unsure of what to make of the gesture. But Hill kept waiting, her expression rather neutral, and Natasha realised just how tedious her denial was. _Of course_ , she was touched by the brunette’s concern. So aloof, yet so astute. And altruistic.

Natasha let go of Hill’s hand to lift the spoon, and put a small heap of the ice chips into her mouth. She savoured the much-required coldness and proceeded to take the cup from the brunette, her fingers trembling just a bit.

Natasha scooted back on the bed and leaned against the backrest, allowing Hill to get up. She wasn’t sure if she still wanted the brunette to leave, but she also didn’t know if she wanted her to stay.

She didn’t have to worry, though, because Hill chose the perfect middle ground.

The brunette simply got off the bed – haltingly, and with a lot more care than usual, Natasha noticed – and took her place on the chair beside it. She’d lifted her tablet off the chair before sitting, and Natasha realised that she must have been here for quite some time.

Hill crossed her legs and placed the tablet onto her lap as she made herself comfortable on her seat, her back ramrod straight. She continued to gaze at Natasha, her eyes warm and maybe even kind. And Natasha had to squash the sudden urge to squirm.

“I would use your signature greeting,” Hill spoke eventually, a lopsided grin on her face, “But right now, you’re not so much hot _stuff_ as you are a hot _mess._ ”

The brunette’s tone was blatantly teasing, but Natasha still felt like smiling. But she promptly morphed it into a smirk.

“ _Hill-arious,_ Hill,” Natasha scoffed, sucking onto the ice chips noisily.

She grinned wolfishly at Hill, enjoying the brunette’s – fake, she knew – exasperation at the sound. (And probably also at the lame pun).

“You didn’t answer my question, though,” Natasha said after a bit, “Why’re you here?”

The brunette’s expression faltered a little, “It was either this or getting beaten up by you for sending you for a psych eval.”

“Stop talking in riddles, would you?” Natasha replied obliviously.

And Hill’s posture stiffened almost violently. The movement made her wince and her hand instantly flew to her midsection. But the brunette stopped it just before it made contact, her eyes squeezing close and her teeth gritted. And Natasha found her own jaw clenching with guilt.

Hill’s body relaxed soon, and she sighed before speaking, “You were concussed during the extraction earlier,” she started, opening her eyes, “And after your, uh… _episode,_ you were quite a handful.”

Natasha expected the brunette’s voice to be lined with accusation. Or derision. But all she heard was empathy.

And Natasha suddenly felt her hackles rising.

She had been outright rude to Hill, but the woman was just being all gentle and magnanimous. She wasn’t even letting Natasha feel the remorse.

“The doctors were convinced that the visions – or nightmares – were going to make a reappearance,” the taller woman informed, “And that they would get out of control, when they did.”

“They were directly going to send you for intensive therapy,” Hill exhaled, dropping her head.

And Natasha immediately averted her gaze, fully aware of what _that_ meant. She waited for the brunette to continue, but Hill stayed quiet. Natasha turned to look back at her, and the woman was just staring at the blank screen of her tablet intently.

“So, why didn’t they?” Natasha asked, even though she sort of knew the answer.

Hill looked up, a small smile on her lips, “I told them it wasn’t required.”

“Whatever you saw and heard back there didn’t stop you from navigating correctly through that damn maze,” the brunette went on, “It was enough proof that you could handle them.”

“But the doctors still insisted that you remain under observation at night,” Hill said, leaning back into her seat, patting the tablet twice, “And I had some reports to type out, so…”

_So, you offered to watch over me._

Natasha sighed and shook her head, almost _fondly_.

She’d never figure out the lieutenant and her nearly pathological concern. For everyone. It was inconspicuous in every way, and yet, it couldn’t be ignored. And the fact that it wasn’t specifically for Natasha only made it even more admirable.

“Why do you care, Hill?” Natasha breathed, the words escaping without her volition, “And why do you try to hide it?”

Hill observed her for a bit before speaking, “Do I…?”

The brunette’s lips were turned up in a rather enigmatic smile, and Natasha had to wonder just which question she was answering.

Hill’s shoulders sagged eventually, and she let out a light huff, “I _do_ have some work to do now,” she said, “Get some sleep if you can.”

“And I’ll…” the brunette paused, as if she was contemplating whether or not to say the next part, “I’ll be here if anything happens.”

But Natasha didn’t want to sleep. Didn’t want to see those images – hear those sounds – again. And she didn’t want to put _Hill_ through that.

“Don’t you want to know?” Natasha spoke before she could even stop herself.

The brunette raised an eyebrow in question, and Natasha exhaled shakily, “Don’t you want to know what made me… what happened in my –”

“I might want to know,” Hill cut her off, “But I don’t _need_ to.”

And Natasha was blown away by the woman’s candour. It was simple and genuine and so damn _liberating._

“I’m a soldier, Romanoff,” Hill added, a sparkle in her eyes, “I see a teammate in trouble, I help them. No questions asked.”

It really boiled down to that, Natasha figured. And she realised just how strong Hill was, to be able to go through with that motto every time.

“Well then, _soldier,”_ Natasha said, the cocky grin on her lips not quite reaching her eyes, “I have one last riddle for you.”

The brunette chuckled for a good 4 seconds before shaking her head, “Haven’t you had enough of riddles for a whole life, Romanoff?”

“Come on, Hill,” Natasha coaxed, “Indulge me.”

_Indulge me, like you always have._

The woman blew out a low whistle, “Fine, shoot.”

“Okay, then,” Natasha said, her tone and expression dramatic, “Riddle me this.”

“People make me, keep me, raise me, _change_ me,” Natasha spoke, willing her voice to stay even as she locked her gaze with Hill’s, “What am I?”

And the answer was right there.

It was her. Natasha Romanoff. The woman who had been broken and rebuilt so many times, she didn’t know what she even was at the beginning.

Hill kept looking at her, until her eyes finally hardened. Almost as if she guessed Natasha’s thoughts. The woman clenched her jaw, the bruise on it twitching, and Natasha knew she probably did.

“Is this your weird way of taking the blame for what happened – what _almost_ happened – back there?” Hill huffed, “Because you really don’t have to.”

“You got us out of there, Romanoff,” the brunette added emphatically, “We’re here right now – alive and in one piece – because of _you._ ”

Natasha nearly snorted at that.

 _That’s only because you got me out of_ there _first. Out of my torment._

But Natasha would never say that for Hill to hear. Because that would be letting the brunette win.

“Is that supposed to be an answer, Hill?” Natasha scoffed, “Because if it is, then it’s wrong.”

The brunette scowled at her, and Natasha smirked back, “Does that mean you forfeit?”

Hill heaved a sigh before getting up from the chair and coming closer to the bed. The taller woman bent her head, bringing her face near Natasha’s, like she wanted to make sure Natasha met her gaze.

_As if I could ever look away from those magnetic eyes._

“If you’re trying to make me admit out loud that you’re this weak person who could fall apart by a slight breeze,” Hill muttered, sharp sapphires drilling into Natasha, “Then it’s not going to work. Because you’re _not_ that.”

Natasha glared right back, “You couldn’t possibly know that.”

“I was in that room, with those grey walls,” Natasha went on, her voice strangled, “And that goddamn music started playing… and then those men came in…” she closed her eyes, shaking her head, “And just like that, I was gone.”

Natasha willed her tears away before opening her eyes and looking dead into the brunette’s orbs, “ _They broke me._ ”

She wondered who exactly she was referring to when she said “they _._ ” Wondered whether it was the sounds, or the images. Or the Red Room.

Natasha also wondered why she was even sharing all this with Hill. Why the woman was able to comfort her, despite the intense way her blue eyes were studying her.

“When you try to break fire,” Hill finally spoke, her voice low and calm, “The flames only spread and become _stronger._ ”

The brunette’s voice was filled with conviction. She was stating a mere fact. And yet, Natasha knew it was more than that. It was a challenge. A dare to _believe_ her.

“The flames also burn everything, Hill,” Natasha said, her voice almost cracking, “ _Kill_ everything.”

“But you’re with S.H.I.E.L.D. now,” the brunette replied, without missing a beat, “Your fire is to defend. To protect.”

Hill held her gaze staunchly, “And it burns just as bright as the sun.”

And Natasha wanted to believe her. But she was suddenly unnerved by the faith _Hill_ had in her.

“Nice try, Agent,” Natasha said, laughing dryly, “Sweet-talking because you don’t have the answer to my riddle?”

Hill gave her a small smile, “As a matter of fact, Romanoff, I _do_ have the answer.”

The lieutenant pulled back and straightened herself, her posture strict and poised and unwavering.

“People make you, keep you, raise you, change you,” Hill repeated the question – for effect, Natasha guessed – and then waited for a bit.

“You’re money,” the brunette finally stated, a tiny grin on her lips, “Alluring and deceptive and _valuable._ ”

It was the right answer, and Natasha knew that last bit was meant particularly for her. But she just couldn’t accept defeat.

“And, you forgot to add,” Natasha whispered, her own smile sly, “You can never get enough of _it_.”

Hill immediately read the implied _of-me_ and dropped her head as she laughed. And Natasha found herself waiting for the gorgeous blue eyes to look back up.

And the brunette raised her head soon enough, her lips still curved up in a smile, “Trust you to get in the last word even after I’ve correctly answered your damn riddle.”

Natasha flashed her a cheeky grin, inevitably making the taller woman roll her eyes. Hill shook her head and started walking back to take her place on the chair, and Natasha grabbed her hand to stop her.

“Wait,” Natasha said, her other hand reaching for one of the cushions behind her, “Take this.”

“That chair has got to be awful,” Natasha said, holding out the pillow, “Especially when you have cracked ribs.”

The brunette’s eyes darted between Natasha and the cushion, and Natasha could imagine what she was thinking.

_Doubt this flimsy-ass thing is even going to make any difference._

But Hill took the pillow anyway, like she recognised the gesture. The brunette placed the cushion against the backrest before sitting down, her fingers already tapping her tablet and bringing it to life.

“Make sure you’re rested for tomorrow, Romanoff,” Hill said, not sparing her a glance as she scrolled through some files on the device, “Barton’s managed to catch our escape artist, and I’m sure you’ll want to have your fun with him.”

And Natasha grinned so widely, she was pretty sure Hill could _hear_ it.

She slid down on her bed, lowering herself into a sleeping position, her face turned towards the brunette. Natasha closed her eyes, but she wasn’t really sleepy; their whole exchange had got her all charged up and buzzing with energy.

Natasha realised that much as she loved winning in general, she loved winning against _Hill_ a lot more. Not only did the lieutenant fight back sportingly, she was also unbelievably _gracious_ in her defeat. Almost as if she _liked_ it when Natasha won. It always made Natasha wonder just who the victor was.

Natasha could hear the soft sound of Hill’s fingers flying over her tablet, the slight rhythm somehow calming her mind even more. She kept peeking occasionally, hoping every time that the brunette would not notice it.

Hill was completely engrossed in her work, but Natasha could see the fatigue in the woman’s features. Natasha knew that it had been a long and exhausting day for _her_ as well. And soon enough, the tapping against the device became slower and erratic, before it altogether stopped.

Natasha opened her eyes fully and found the brunette asleep, her head slumped against her shoulder. And even though Natasha would never admit it, she couldn’t deny that it was an adorable sight. She kept watching Hill, unabashedly this time; giving in to the temptation and drinking in the brunette’s features.

Natasha got off the bed eventually, gathering one of the blankets given to her, and moved towards Hill, her steps soundless as she glided across the floor. She carefully lifted the tablet off Hill’s lap and stashed it on the rack beside her bed before shifting her focus back to the brunette.

Natasha’s hand itched to shift the stray bangs falling over Hill’s face, but she held back. She gave the woman a lingering glance before wrapping the duvet over her, tucking it gently behind her shoulders. Natasha brought back her hand to adjust it over Hill’s torso, and the brunette let out a soft sigh.

Natasha froze in her action and held her breath, waiting for the woman to wake up and question her. But Hill simply turned her head and inhaled deeply, still fast asleep. The movement made Natasha’s eyes land on the bruise on the brunette’s jaw, and this time, she couldn’t resist it.

Natasha’s hand reached out on its own accord and the knuckles ghosted over Hill’s jaw – the touch feather light – and she could swear that the brunette nearly leaned into the caress.

And Natasha was struck by the overwhelming urge to protect the woman. To shield her from every pain. The feeling was so strong and acute, she almost found it hard to breathe.

Natasha retracted her hand as she straightened up and took a step back, and Hill's words suddenly echoed in her mind. Natasha smiled wistfully as she gazed at the woman.

_If I’m the sun, then you’re the whole damn sky, holding me in place._

And Hill had quite literally done that.

Back during their escape, the lieutenant’s voice – and that pair of blue eyes – was the only thing keeping Natasha tethered to sanity. And she’d found herself answering every question Hill had asked her, just to hear the next one. To hear the brunette’s voice.

Natasha would never know how it all had even worked. She’d never know why _Hill_ had thought it would work. Or maybe she hadn’t. Maybe, she’d just been desperate to get Natasha out of her personal hell.

Moved by the thought, and really, by everything Hill had done for her, Natasha sighed heavily. She walked back to her bed, her eyes never leaving the taller woman even as she slipped under the covers. She knew she was being a creep, but Natasha kept staring at the brunette, knowing that she’d probably never get to watch her like this ever again.

The slight rise and fall of Hill’s chest were visible despite the blanket, and Natasha found the sight filling her with a strange type of tranquillity. She kept looking at the brunette, until her eyelids finally started drooping.

And maybe for the first time in forever, Natasha fell asleep with peace in her heart and a smile on her lips.


	3. Game, Set and Match

#### The Soldier

As Maria approached the interrogation room the next afternoon, she was rather shocked to find Romanoff already there, waiting outside.

And she was even more surprised to see the file in the redhead’s hand.

_Not only is she early, she’s even done her paperwork._

“Why, Romanoff, you’re actually ahead of the schedule,” Maria teased, “One would almost think that’s military discipline.”

“Nope, still a spy, Hill,” Romanoff replied, “You’re the only soldier here.”

The redhead’s tone wasn’t mocking at all, and Maria felt warmth course through her. The same warmth that had filled her when she’d woken up earlier that morning to find a comforter draped over her.

Romanoff had still been asleep when Maria had gotten up, and she’d quietly gathered her stuff, placed the folded blanket at the edge of the woman’s bed and slipped out of the room, sparing the redhead (and herself) the awkwardness that would have inevitably ensued.

The night had been… an _experience,_ for the sheer lack of a better term. Maria had witnessed so many different shades of Romanoff, she’d almost reeled at the whiplash changes. And she’d known that beneath all that suave exterior, the woman was struggling to hold herself together.

And Maria just had to make her see. Make Romanoff see how strong she was. It was the least Maria could do. _Try to_ do. Because, really, the redhead was braver than she’d ever know. And Maria knew there was nothing that would take away Romanoff’s torment, but she’d still wanted to help her deal with it.

Maria didn’t know _why_ she couldn’t bear the redhead’s defeated expression. Didn’t know why she needed to soothe the woman. She just… did. Maybe it was because she couldn’t stand to see the redhead lose.

Maybe it was because Romanoff wasn’t _born_ to lose…

Ending her musing, Maria simply grinned at the Russian right now, “Why _are_ you early, though?”

Romanoff came forward and thrust the file towards Maria. Taking it from the redhead, Maria leafed through the pages and realised it was the file on their guy. It was all the information Romanoff had gathered while she’d been undercover. It was comprehensive, if still a bit messy.

 _Classic Romanoff_.

“Thanks,” Maria said, looking back at the redhead, “But why’re you giving this to me right now? The official report isn’t due till a few days.”

“Yeah, I know,” Romanoff replied, “This is just a rough draft for you to refer to.”

Maria raised an eyebrow in question and the shorter woman spoke again, “I want you to handle the questioning.”

“I’ve had enough of his pug face anyway,” Romanoff said, rolling her eyes, “Not sure I can see it again without rearranging some of the features.”

Maria couldn’t smother her laugh at the Russian’s genuine revulsion, and Romanoff chuckled right along with her.

“Plus, I figured you’d want to take a few rounds at him,” the redhead added, “Considering that you nearly got barbecued in his latest pet-project.”

And Maria finally got the Russian’s gesture. 

_Romanoff and her twisted ways._

Maria scoffed lightly at the woman, “Thanks, Romanoff, but you’re the only one who enjoys interrogations.”

“ _Please,_ Hill,” the redhead instantly retorted, “Don’t pretend as if you don’t like asking questions and getting the answers you want.”

Romanoff had a knowing grin on her lips, and Maria could hardly fight her own smile. And just when she thought the redhead’s gaze would soften, Romanoff cocked up an eyebrow.

“Moreover, I’d love to see how fast you can break the man,” the Russian challenged, “ _Soldier._ ”

Maria saw the devilish twinkle in Romanoff's eyes, and she simply shook her head.

 _Damned woman. When is she_ not _playing her games?_

But Maria only gave her a sly smile, taking the bet, like she always did. She was about to open her mouth to speak when they saw Fury approaching them. He addressed them with a curt nod before turning to look at the redhead.

“Well, Romanoff,” the Director said, “Let the party begin.”

“Actually, Sir,” Romanoff replied, glancing towards Maria, “I’d like Agent Hill to take over.”

Fury studied the woman for a while, his visible eye boring into Romanoff, like he was trying to guess her agenda.

But he eventually let out a quiet sigh, “Sure, I trust you’ve briefed Hill on all the intel?”

The Director turned to look at Maria, and Maria waved the file in her hand in reply. Fury nodded in approval and she began walking towards the door of the room.

Maria stopped just before entering and looked at Romanoff, levelling her with a smirk.

_You’re on._

#### The Widow

Natasha took her place beside Fury as they observed the interrogation room through the two-way mirror.

The man was sitting on a chair, his handcuffed wrists resting on the table in front of him. He appeared so unimpressed, Natasha actually felt like walking in and punching the scowl off his face. The Director turned on the internal microphones just as Hill approached the table, standing opposite to the guy as she flipped open the file.

The man raked his gaze over the brunette before speaking, “Where’s the other mewling quim?”

Beside Natasha, Fury blew out an angry huff. But Natasha was hardly affected; she'd gotten used to it by now. She’d never truly understand why the insults for female snitches were particularly misogynistic – and _always_ sexual – in nature. And really, she’d never bring herself to care.

Yet, Natasha somehow felt the sting right now, seeing the guy sneer at Hill. But the lieutenant didn’t react at all. She simply kept her gaze fixed on the pages, skimming through the words, like she hadn’t even heard the man.

Natasha could see the guy’s irritation grow at the lack of response – and the lack of _attention,_ more importantly – and she smiled at Hill’s tactic.

_She might just be good at this._

The brunette finally snapped the file shut and placed it on the table, her expression calm and collected. She looked at the man, as if noticing him only now, and gave him a frigid smile.

“Well, Mr Miles _Weiner,_ ” Hill said, stressing on the surname, and Natasha nearly burst out into laughter, “Shall we start?”

Not waiting for a reply, the lieutenant simply launched her volley of allegations.

Hill was outright relentless when it came to interrogations, like she couldn’t wait to be done with it. She threw the accusations one after the other, blocking every path of escape. And it would usually lead to a checkmate pretty quickly, because they weren’t just insinuations. They were facts. And the target would _know_ that, given the woman’s calculating and composed demeanour.

Natasha, on the contrary, often lured her subjects to walk into their trap themselves. She’d let them relish the illusion of having the upper hand until the last minute, before turning the tables. She loved that look of utter confusion on their faces.

But Hill’s approach worked well enough, and the man was soon sputtering, “I-I need my lawyer!” he croaked, “I need my lawyer _right now_!”

Hill’s smiled at the guy’s distraught expression and leaned forward, both of her palms resting on the table as she brought her face closer to the man’s.

“I believe there’s just one whining pussy in this room,” the brunette said, her voice low and mocking, “And I’m looking at it.”

Fury let out a bark of laughter beside Natasha, and Natasha grinned herself, impressed at Hill’s efficiency. The Directory shook his head before walking into the room and Natasha simply watched triumphantly as the brunette straightened up and crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze fixed on the man.

_Damn, did the soldier just win this round?_

Fury and Hill soon took care of the other details, getting the contacts that Natasha hadn’t managed to find while she’d been undercover. It was quick work, and they were done within no time. The Director walked over to the intercom and summoned more agents to take the guy away.

The agents came over promptly and the rather petulant man-child was hauled out of the interrogation room. His eyes fell on Natasha as he was brought out, and he glared at her. But it lasted less than a second.

Because right now, he was looking at the Black Widow.

Natasha maintained the cold – and downright _deadly –_ stare until the guy was no longer in her field of vision, and then shifted her gaze back to the two-way mirror. Fury and Hill were still in the room discussing the remaining trivial matters.

“So, Hill,” Fury said after a bit, his tone more conversational than professional, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your little adventure yesterday, with Romanoff.”

Natasha instantly froze at the words. The Director was obviously referring to their escape – and to Natasha’s episode – and she started tensing. She wondered if Fury knew that she was still listening to this. She wondered if the Director _wanted_ her to be listening to this.

“Sure,” Hill said, the reply sounding more like a question, “Go ahead.”

Fury gave her a small nod, “I know that you’ve made sure that not too many people find out what exactly happened when the two of you were in there,” he began, “But I’ve managed to learn about Romanoff’s blackout.”

Hill sighed tiredly, “It wasn’t a blackout, Sir,” she replied, “It was more of visions, and flash-backs, I guess. Like a panic attack of some sorts.”

“Right,” the Director said, “But Romanoff seemed fine outside, so I assume that it’s under control?”

The brunette nodded in reply, but Fury still had a quizzical look on his face. And Natasha knew he hadn’t broached the real topic yet.

“Anyway, I just _have_ to ask you,” Fury said, as if on cue, “How’d you manage to get out of that maze? I know it’s nearly impossible to find the right way out of there, especially in so less time.”

And Natasha found herself holding her breath as she waited for Hill’s answer. Waited for the brunette to gloat about how she’d managed to save the day, when Natasha had been all weak and powerless. Waited for the humiliation that would undoubtedly follow.

But Hill merely gave Fury a small smile, her expression almost fond. And _proud_.

“It wasn’t too difficult, Sir,” Hill began, her eyes softening, “Romanoff knew the way.”

Natasha could hardly believe her ears. This was the perfect chance for the brunette to defeat her. To get back at Natasha for all the crap she’d given her. Natasha couldn’t fathom why Hill was giving _her_ the credit.

The brunette’s gaze flitted towards the two-way mirror, staying there just for a second, like she knew Natasha was watching. She looked back at Fury, her features cool and casual, as if it really wasn’t a big deal.

“She knew the answers,” the lieutenant added, her eyes shimmering with mirth, “I just had to ask the right questions.”

And with a simple shrug of her shoulder, the soldier had won every game they’d ever played.

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who don't know what "mewling quim" means, it's a Victorian-era insult which is usually aimed at women. The meaning is pretty damn derogatory, so just... Google it.


End file.
